


Alive, alive.

by heartsung



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, Episode 57, Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 02:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7340536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsung/pseuds/heartsung
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy walks, and Percy thinks.</p>
<p>A self-indulgent, very short little thing set during episode 57. Just me trying to figure out what might've been going on in Percy's head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive, alive.

He walks with Vex, and her presence at his side calms him, slows his racing heart, and the fleeting whiffs of her scent that brush his nose remind him that he is alive, alive, not dead or drowning in a pool of red that feels as cold as his insides often do. His ear itches where the little drop of blood is still sticking to his skin (or at least where he thinks it is), itches exactly like the urge for revenge used to and still does sometimes, just without the burning, but he does nothing to remove it. He leaves it as another reminder of what just happened – as if he really needs that, he can barely think of anything else, but he does anyway.

They walk and he speaks to Zahra, asks her for the shrine and he knows he’s confusing Vex, knows but keeps going anyway because he doesn’t know what else to do, needs someone (family) with him and she’s the only one who’s noticed, so now she’s stuck with him if she’ll allow it. She does, stays with him on the way home and says nothing even though he can sense her disapproval of his decision to not tell her everything. He’s grateful for it, more than he thinks he could express, and he figures all it’d get him is a wink and a ‘sure, darling’ anyway, so he leaves it, hopes, _trusts_ that she knows this way, too.

* * *

 

He bids her goodnight in the hall and even manages a small smile as he forces himself to not let his gaze linger on her departing form for too long. Instead, he turns and walks back to his own quarters, careful not to hurry – the servants, the guards will see and they’ll talk (more than they do anyway) and that’s the last thing they (him, Cassandra, Vox Machina) need. Once there, he strips quickly, absently, unwilling to waste any attention on a task that has become automatic over the years. Smoothing down the wrinkles in his coat, he hangs it, then shuts his closet and leans his forehead against the cool, familiar-yet-foreign wooden doors (why had they not replaced their furniture? He wonders often, but never finds an answer that doesn’t scare him). The smell calms him, similar in a way to what Vex’s presence did earlier but not as effective – it’s too loaded for that, reminds him of what he’s lost (all the times he and Cass hid in there from Julius, giggling behind their fists to keep the game going longer) instead of what he’s gained.

And he’s gained a lot, he muses as he straightens, turns, runs his hands down his shirt slowly before picking up his gun – he’s gained that, too, even though he thinks it would’ve been better if he hadn’t – and gently, almost gingerly even though he’s been doing the same thing for years now, sliding it underneath his pillow. He stares at it for a moment, pondering the fact that this is even a thing that he has to do, and then he shakes his head, breathes out slowly, slowly, deliberately, before getting into bed and closing his eyes, as ready as he can be to go back to another night filled with black smoke, death, and the distant knowledge that even though he feels like it, he’s not alone anymore.


End file.
